Je ne peux pas changer...

...that's just how I am.

How many times have we heard people say that? How many times have we said it to someone that finds our attitude or behavior off-putting? 

What is a person really saying with the remark of "That's just how I am"? Are they just saying an excuse? Or perhaps they may be saying that they do not have the motivation to change this aspect about them. It is possible that they do not want to change, or that they think that this behavior cannot be changed. Both of which go far beyond the simplistic notion that they are just stubborn. That too may be an excuse.

It is important to look at the origin of both why the person is the way they are, and why they have the idea that they are unchangeable. One thing is certain, and that is that they have accepted the way that they are in the context of saying "That's just how I am." At that point, they are saying to you, "Accept this about me, because I do, and there's nothing to be done about it." 

Maybe there is nothing to be done about it, but I find the sentiment that an individual has no confidence in any change in their-self to be a lack of willpower and focus. Why is that person behaving that way, and excusing their-self of that behavior? Was it some factor of the way that they were raised? Was it accepted by people around them their entire life so was never before challenged? Was it a factor motivated by an event? The possibilities aren't really what I'm getting at. I find it curious that people accept themselves in a situation with behavior that is usually not positive, and yet hold others to a different standard where they do not accept the behavior of others. 

We cannot truly understand all of the intricacies for why others act the way that they do, but I think that we should be open to change. We aren't losing our identity by changing behavior, we are taking control of ourselves. We are revealing our identity of power, wisdom, and determination to improve, and we will creatively adapt that to ourselves in our own way. 

Baseball

Baseball is just a game. It's strange how a game can have so much meaning for a person...or a family...or a community...a city...a nation. The game has a power that draws people in so much that they love it whether the game loves them back or not. People give the game all that they have. They pray for it. They defend it. They cry, they laugh, and they rage about even the smallest detail of it. To some, it means everything. I am one of those.

Baseball is my grandpa at the age of 72 hitting fly balls to my cousin and I as kids on a hot, Texas, summer afternoon. It's fighting back tears at the end of the season in little league where I learned to accept loss. It's avoiding sports radio or TV after a heartbreaking loss. It's playing catch with my dad outside after he got back from work. It's my grandma's stories of heckling and flirting with Pete Reiser, Duke Snyder, and Dixie Walker at Ebbet's Field. It's pretending to be Nolan Ryan while pitching. It's socks rolled up into balls and bases made of furniture in games played with my brother and sister. Baseball is what stopped my classmates from making fun of me at school. It's the "temple" that I go visit when I want to be alone. It's lining up buckets and mattresses at the barn, to throw at 200ft away to practice long-toss. It's hating the New York Yankees. It's habits and superstitions. It's sleepless nights caused by missed opportunities. Baseball is stick-bats, stone-balls, and candy-wrapper bases on the playground. It's long socks and a new cap and belt. 

It's scars from diving for catches. It's the smell of a field of cut grass and the leather of a glove. It's Eric Nadel's voice at night in my dad's truck. It's 3 hours that bore most people but have me on the edge of my seat. It's Michael Young. It's batting cages for hours with my teammates. It's the reason my family had lawn chairs (so they could watch me and my brother play). It's a brotherhood of friends that I made in any American city that I have lived in. It's disappointment. It's coaches telling me that I have the "green light". It's player's cards and plastic cups from the ballpark.  It's girlfriends never understanding why I would breakout of my stoic nature for a game. It's watching Neftali Feliz strike out Alex Rodriguez to go to the Texas Rangers' first World Series. It's spending two years with shovels in our front pasture building a ball field. It's a game I've played every year of my life since I was 5. It's not blaming the umpire because there were countless other chances to succeed on my own. Baseball is my first love, and I will never be unfaithful to her.

Taken off the path

I am the galaxy and all of the celestial bodies within. She is the center of the galaxy. The center has the most powerful of pulls. Each body once had their own course, but now in this galaxy are pulled to spin around her. Nothing in the galaxy has a choice but to dance a spiral, slowly getting closer to the center. 

no grudge

I was bullied in grade school. I didn't know what was happening to me had a name, or that it was particularly wrong. I thought it was normal. I thought that it was my fault that other kids were mean to me. I wasn't self-hating. I wasn't puzzled by the scenario. I recognized that I was new, different, and aloof from my classmates in that small town, and I reasoned that this was the reason that I was the end of the ugly behavior. I understood that, and didn't blame them for how I was treated. Eventually I thought that if I dressed and tried to be more like them that they wouldn't be as harsh. I never really succeeded at that, and I expected each day of school to be some sort of struggle. This happened from 4th grade, when my family moved from a big city to our land near a small town, until maybe 11th or 12th grade of high school. I don't recall it being as bad as that seems, but I remember hating school. I felt sick with anxiety on Sunday evenings, with the looming day of school and the jokes and teasing that I would probably get. I tried to hide. I tried to make it so that there was nothing that I could be made fun of for. I kept quiet, I didn't ask anything of anyone. I didn't try and play or eat lunch with anyone. It seems lonely, but I didn't see it that way. If I could just get away from the people, they couldn't hurt me. 

I never told my parents. I never told my siblings. I never told my teachers. I never told my coaches. I know that the last two groups saw it though. If I was in there place I wouldn't know for sure what to do about it, and at the time I didn't expect them to make things better. Perhaps they knew that whatever was done could only make things worse, and that's the last thing I would want. "Kids are kids", and that involves being mean sometimes. Perhaps they knew that. I knew that. I don't recall taking insults, being shoved, spit on, or things taken from me as personal. Sure they hurt my feelings, but I somehow I held tightly to the fact that they didn't know me. The other kids didn't know who I was or what was going on in my head. I don't think they cared either. They kept their high status in school by keeping kids like me down, and a strange "status quo" way, I understood that then and I get it now. I am not saying that this makes it right. I had 1 friend in particular at school that wasn't mean to me. We never met or talked outside of school, but at least he was there to laugh with sometimes. I remember watching him take his share of bullying also.

Home was warm. My family was so loving, sweet, supportive, and genuine. Home was safe and positive, while school was the opposite. It was hard for myself as a kid to deal with those extremes, and it hurt my confidence to realize that I could barely survive socially away from home. When you have no confidence, you're only going to suffer worse, and I did. The most painful parts of the bullying were when people made fun of my family or where we came from. Having Native American and Jewish heritage brought a lot of slurs to me in particular, as well as being Catholic and from a poor family. I remember being ashamed that I did not defend my family. My family was a light that I loved and cherished more than anything, even myself, and I did not have the courage to stop that image from being humiliated. I think that hurt the worst. 

How did I deal with bullying? Alone. I spent as much time as I could out of the reality of the social life that was that school and town. I played a lot of role playing and adventure video games where I could pretend to be someone else somewhere else. I worked a lot because I had chores and tasks to take care of on a farm/ranch, and I had to earn money if I wanted clothes, shoes, or new video games. Working was very good for me because it relived my stress and let me feel like I was growing or building something, where it felt like at school I had no building material or seeds to do anything. I also dealt with it by spending some time crying in my room, screaming into pillows, hitting myself, or tearing pages of books. I told myself that I would be able to graduate and move out of the town. I could leave the mean classmates and all of those humiliations behind and start new. That hope, along with my family kept me alive. I contemplated, and even thought through ways and steps that I could take to end my life. The anger and hurt that experienced was bearable, and looking back I'm not sure why I felt that suicide as a way out was even a possibility. Maybe because I cannot remember today how hard that experience was. Maybe because I was a dramatic, hormonal teenager. What I do remember was that what stopped me was 2 things: The thought of me missing out on even just the chance of great things that were still waiting for me once I graduated and went to college, and ultimately my family. My younger sister and brother seemed so much more brave and confident than I did. They appeared to have been enjoying life more than I, and have such a bright future ahead of them that I couldn't take their older brother away from them. I would hurt them and my parents worse than any single thing. How could I do such a thing? The one shining flame of love and compassion for me would be repaid with a selfish, cowardly act. Every time I thought of ending my life, I always ended up with that notion, and nothing short of God would deter me more. 

This experience made a "late bloomer" in many ways, particularly in finding my identity of who I am and who I want to be. It probably still affects me quite a bit, but time and habit have lost my recognition of it. Bullying made my college years more formative, and to this day I treasure them so much because it was the first time that I could explore and express myself around my peers. I wouldn't wish the experience on anyone, but you won't find me on the front lines advocating for anti-bullying campaigns either. I still don't know what to make about that time as a kid. I was bullied for so long that I can't speak for what it's like to not have those problems. And in the same way that I deal with many of my anxieties now, I put those negative memories down and ignored them. I can't say with confidence that they were good for me and made me stronger anymore than I can say that they hindered my growth and made me psychologically frail. I've never met anyone with a similar experience. Like me, anyone who might have gone through that probably wouldn't tell anyone anyway. I'm telling my blog.

Keep up

I haven't wrote much on this blog this year. Maybe I don't need it as much as I used to. Did I ever need it? Were all of my past writings important for me to release stress? To feel like I told something what was troubling or exciting me? I don't fucking know.

This blog wasn't intended for anyone to read but myself, and when that is the situation I am purely motivated to write for me and myself only. Authors write columns or public blog posts because they know that people read it. They want their thoughts to be seen and may even feel that they owe the public something. They are motivated by the external expectation as well as for themselves. Maybe not even themselves. Beats me. Ask them. Whatever.

findthecenter.blogspot.com means a lot to me. It's a capture of myself and what I was going through and planning at different stages and places in my life....which of course I do not forget, but I like to have this in order to remind myself of who I was, and what I wanted. It's about 9 years old now, and as I get close to a blog being used for a decade, I realize that I want to keep using it for another 9 years.

I'm ready and not ready for what's next. And I think that this is all the better.

doubt

At this point, I have no idea what I am doing. When have I ever. I have had plans and dreams, but as of right now, things seem unreachable. I can see why so many adults throughout my life have settled. I understand now. I get why people stop fighting for their dreams and desires. I don't blame people for living their seemingly boring lives that I will never understand the details of.

When I was younger it seemed easy: If you wanted to be something or to go somewhere, then the answer seemed to be to just do it. There was no question about it. Now I realize that if everyone actually followed their dreams, our world would be a completely different place. Our civilization would be unrecognizable...so much that I can't even imagine the difference. I do know that it wouldn't be what we have now. I also realize now that those people older than me settled at some point and many stopped trying...living the way that they did because it was practical. They compromised because they knew that they couldn't have it all. I suppose that some individuals can, but it's rare. Most people do what they do out of necessity and comfort. Dreams are often uncomfortable to obtain.

So I come to this point where I find myself with a good job, a solid social life, and little material wants. What else could I ask for? What do I want? Who do I want? Am I so blinded by the confusion with what to do with myself that I am missing important things in front of me? Do I compromise it all and just accept what I have? What about my dreams? What about the places that I want to go experience, jobs I want to try, things that I want to learn? Am I defying myself? Am I betraying my heart? Am I being true to myself? Am I destroying a part of myself?

I'd like to believe that God has set my paths, that He is guiding me the entire time. Yes...I would like to. But I cannot accept that as a full truth. Things may indeed happen for a reason, but where is the free-will if all is predestined? If I am being guided then whatever would need to happen would happen. But where is my dream? Where is my decision in all of this? Is it all supposed to make me and everyone else happy?

Anger and sadness are just as much of a gift to the human emotion as joy. I argue that things wouldn't be changed or improve if it wasn't for negative feelings. Justice carried out, nations liberated, slaves freed, rights granted, pain relieved...the motives are countless. So does God put us before things that make us unhappy as to push us to change things? Is He even doing any of that? Does it matter?

If I believe that he knew what to do with me, then I wouldn't worry. I may not know what I am doing, but I would trust that events would happen in my life to make me understand my purpose. But deep down, I am not sure that I really believe that. I feel that I have to make the change on my own. The problem is, what changes do I want? What am I willing to give up to get those changes? Would I be happy with those changes and finally live my dream?

inquietus

Not to say that I wish this was 1500, but if it was, I wouldn't have so many options. If it was 1500, I would not find my lot in life, my lot in life would find me. I wouldn't decide where I should live and where I should work, but instead those paths would be before me. Sure, I might decide among 2-3 different jobs such as following my father as a craftsman or say, becoming a merchant or a soldier, but what array of choices is that really? I'd be confined to living near home, if not in the same household my entire life with my family. I wouldn't think twice about marrying whoever my family arranged or if I was lucky, a girl of my choosing...as long as she fit my social class lived within 5 miles of my family. 

Mais actuellement non! The world is open before me! I have been blessed with modern technology, handsome features, a clever-enough mind, a progressive society, and enriching experiences that lead me to about as much direction as outer space. 

Up? Down? Left? Right? Back? Forward? Diagonal? Wait; where the hell is "right" anymore?!? 

I have been many places and learned many things. But there is so much more. If I work hard enough and apply myself, I can be practically anywhere I want to be. It becomes impossible for me to sit still and be content with a job, a city, a language, a geography, and yes: a girl. I find myself questioning my lot as to why I am still doing what I am doing every year.

I become bored with a job and find something else nearly every year. I go into serious, wonderful relationships with lovely women and find that we probably aren't good for each other. I have lived in a different location every year since I left home. What has gotten into me? When did it get there? Why did I study Ancient Greek, Russian, Latin, Arabic, and French? Who does that?! 

Did I do all of these things simply because I CAN? Why do I continue? Perhaps I am in love with the idea of not settling, but will it go away? My contentment is fleeting and only lasts the duration of the change over several months, then it goes back to being hungry for something else. 

Gosh those words are so sexy together. "Something else".